


grant the fruit of my desire

by inkhorn



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Cock Worship, Facials, First Time Blow Jobs, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkhorn/pseuds/inkhorn
Summary: There is no point in sleeping, not when neither dream nor darkness can compare to Asterius’ restful face. It is hard enough to keep his eyes from Asterius’ powerful body while they do battle together; afterwards, with his breath so calm in his chest and his limbs so soft and tired across the grasses, Theseus can scarcely restrain himself. Asterius looks the portrait of a hero, and gods, it sets his heart racing more frantically than even in the midst of combat. He longs to touch his chest and feel the sheer strength of it, to know it as intimately as he knows his own skin.So he does.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 549
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations





	grant the fruit of my desire

Everything came to rest in the shade of Elysium. The cool pastures of its groves were the heaven that was carved for heroes: bloated fruits on branches, ambrosia as plentiful as olive oil spilling from the lip of every cup. This was not the paradise that would have satisfied Theseus; he was born of wealth, but it is a bitter pill to simply stagnate in it. Greece has her many kings. Not all deserve their titles, and even fewer deserve to be set among the stars. In truth, Theseus has feared what creature he might become if he was not kept lean. The Muses sing of mortals beset of their arrogance and how the Fates trouble their thread in return. After a lifetime of doing battle against those who would spoil his course, it does not feel like a reward to bask in paradise, but instead an unsettling calm before the storm that alights adrenaline in his limbs with no outlet to sate them.

All of it has changed with Asterius, so utterly that Theseus can no longer even imagine an existence without him. Lately, it has been occurring to him this is the satisfaction that Elysium was intended to bring; he had been looking down his nose at his fellow heroes who would gladly unclench their jaws and rest, and all along he had been the one who was lacking. What a marvel, that Asterius could teach him there are still things his soul might learn! But the minotaur is more than just a vessel for a shade’s restless spirit: he has become the home Theseus never found when living, not even in Athens, his heart and his pride. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, for Asterius is no throne he’s built. He’s not even like Theseus’ other companions, not Pirithous or Heracles, who brightened the king on their travels but were more the open ocean rather than his harbor.

That such passion might exist entirely unowned is a magnificent and terrifying thing. In one moment Theseus can be indomitable with Asterius’ broad hand rested upon his shoulder, and in another torn to ribbons when Asterius mentions he’s dreamed of Zagreus.

Laying in the serenity of a grove, it feels more like the former, with just him and Asterius and the brush of butterflies above them. Asterius reclines against a tree trunk and Theseus has rested his head upon his lap to no complaint from the minotaur. It is hardly the first time. The way Asterius used to flinch away from touch is such a distant memory, compared to how Theseus will now lay like a maiden across his thighs or stroke his neck as he braids his mane. Asterius doesn’t often voice his contentment, but he has endearing little tells that Theseus is shrewd to notice. Those velvety ears of his will tip backwards, and his jaw will slacken — but most delightful of all is how with no one else will Asterius close his eyes and completely untense, like he has now.

And it’s positively _beautiful_.

Theseus has been watching him in fond silence, his cheek tipped against Asterius’ thigh so he might gaze up at him. There is no point in sleeping, not when neither dream nor darkness can compare to Asterius’ restful face. It is this way he looks after a fight that captivates Theseus the most. It is hard enough to keep his eyes from Asterius’ powerful body while they do battle together; afterwards, with his breath so calm in his chest and his limbs so soft and tired across the grasses, Theseus can scarcely restrain himself. Asterius looks the portrait of a hero, and _gods_ , it sets his heart racing more frantically than even in the midst of combat. He longs to touch his chest and feel the sheer strength of it, to know it as intimately as he knows his own skin.

So he does.

(Perhaps he’s not so adept at restraint after all.)

“Ah, Asterius, my friend,” Theseus hums as he runs the backs of his fingers down those lightly-furred abdominals. For so long has he called Asterius his _friend_ , his _rival_ , and never will those words not be true — though only now they bear a heavier weight. His voice positively drips with that emotion, the unabashed desire, as he teases right down to the edge of Asterius’ belt. Would Asterius undress for him, if Theseus whispered how so dearly willing he was to touch lower?

Instead, Asterius murmurs deep in his throat. His right ear flicks and without opening an eye he reaches over to card his hand once through Theseus’ hair.

Theseus lets his hand stroke back up from the bull’s beltline with a wistful sigh. Only for Asterius would he agonize beneath patience, like the sky Atlas bears upon his sturdy shoulders. There is nothing Theseus wants that he does not pursue, but they are not within the twisted labyrinth walls and Asterius is not his _quarry_ — and yet, it also seems like not enough to fight or pose or orate as a means to win the minotaur’s heart as though it were but some maiden’s kerchief. It is not that he has no cause! Oh, no, he has witnessed so many times Asterius’ gaze linger upon him, and Asterius’ arm has a way of wrapping itself around him in the night. But it is always just those brief moments, and never anything more.

If Asterius was a warrior accustomed to the sweat and the bond between brothers in war, Theseus would not hesitate, he tells himself. But Asterius is a warrior even if he’s one who only knows blood, and Theseus must admit that his bravado is shaken when it comes this matter. For once in his noble life, he finds himself caught by the worry of rejection. And it’s foolishly implausible (for how could _he,_ king and champion of Athens, not be wanted?), but if he dwells upon it too heavily, it is suddenly Asterius’ script that writes to him that he bedded another and not Phaedra’s. It is Asterius’ voice and not Antiope’s that promises to kill him and thus forces him to wield his sword, to drive it (again!) through Asterius’ breast. Those earthly emotions have simmered into dull, scarred memories, but he can still recall his sheer indignation — and that is not the emotion that impales him when he wonders if Asterius longs for another. It is nothing but agony, white hot and yet bitter cold.

It is truly the plight of a hero to fall weak and pitiful before a god — Theseus just never suspected it would be Aphrodite. Heracles warned him of the goddess during the time he bedded her curly-haired lover Adonis; but he was wise enough never to truly court the youth, whose beauty he described as the handsomest to ever come of sapwood… in his typical leaden-tongued way.

If Heracles ever longed for Adonis as rapturously as Theseus longs for Asterius, then his cousin truly deserves all his spoils on Olympus. Theseus has wanted many things in his life and in his death, though none have possessed him so completely as the desire to take Asterius in his mouth. What noises the bull might make has haunted him, particularly in the night when he strokes himself and imagines Asterius crying out above him. It would be glorious. There is no better respite for a warrior than within the strong hands of his companion, rutting the last drops of battle-charged adrenaline from his body. After all, Theseus has bared himself for plenty of men on his travels, this should be the same. Even after he slew the minotaur and fled Crete, he’d permitted Ariadne to ride him to completion, and then his hot blood had sought out one of the Athenian youths to thrust into him to the rocking of the sea. Back then, it’d been a passing thought — if the minotaur could have been the one to bend him over, to spill inside of him as the only appropriate climax to their magnificent battle. It had seemed almost unfortunate he was dead.

And now Theseus has finally found him again and those thoughts are tenfold and their spars just as thrilling, and still the passion of their fraternity is trepid.

He is shaken from his self-pitying thoughts as Asterius’ legs shift beneath him, tipping his neck back as they do. Theseus lets his arm drop from where it was mindlessly stroking Asterius’ chest and lifts his head just an inch — to witness that the minotaur has clenched one thigh above the other, though not enough to disguise the slight bulge of his lappets. Immediately Theseus’ heart leaps. Once before he had thought — well, Asterius had been sleeping so close behind him and then his back did hollow and his hips tilted away, and when Theseus tried to press back against him, Asterius had rolled over immediately. But this is undeniable! And merely from his hand upon Asterius’ chest; oh, how certainly Asterius would buck and strain if Theseus indulged him how they both were craving.

Asterius’ breath above him has gone very still, but Theseus’ mind races. Of course Asterius has never approached him; the bull surely thinks himself too modest to court the Champion, no matter how much Theseus has praised him. All this time he has also been waiting for a moment of clarity! Theseus wets his lips as his gaze flits up to Asterius. The bull’s eyes are still closed and his lashes soft against his cheeks, but he’s awake, most likely tense and waiting to see if Theseus has noticed that swell just inches from his face.

Well, Theseus decides with triumphant finality, he has an answer for _that_.

Thus he rolls himself over and his hands come to rest on Asterius’ thick thighs. With his pulse pounding, he dips his head down against Asterius’ battle lappets to ghost his breath across Asterius’ lap – but it is not until he presses a light kiss to Asterius’ inner thigh does the minotaur’s body jerk and come alive with realization. It is not a kind realization. Suddenly Asterius’ eyes have flashed open and he’s shoving Theseus’ head away with a sense of urgency that is positively offensive. Theseus frowns, mouth opening in confusion, to question, to protest; anything to give words to the wound that’s blossoming in his chest.

“King.” Asterius, however, speaks before he can. He is still pushing against Theseus’ shoulder, as if the idea of the king’s lips around his cock is more damning than even the darkest fog of Erebus. But the way he speaks is pained, dragging his words out through gritted teeth, “You cannot. Please.”

“Have I mistaken you?” Theseus quakes, but even as he speaks, realization is dawning upon him. At once his expression snaps to fury and the gentle air of Elysium now feels too warm and suffocating, especially with how his cheeks flare hot beneath it. There is only _one_ certain explanation for this. Theseus bites back, despite his throat being so tight, “No, I see now! What cruel transparency you have revealed to me, my friend! The blackguard has stolen into your dreams, and in them, seized your passions with the craft of Hypnos!”

The mention of Zagreus makes Asterius snort. “No. That is not it.”

Undeterred, Theseus’ brow furrows. “Then am I not handsome? The Champion of Elysium, with a face so detested his companion will not look upon it!”

“King, you _are_ —”

“So I am just not to your liking, then! To be born lacking a snout — that is not a man’s fault, Asterius!”

“Stop.” Asterius grabs his emoting wrists and holds them tight. The minotaur seems gravely serious and Theseus does actually quiet beneath his stare, his clambering heart begging for some sort of explanation. This was not how it was meant to be: his fears, realized. Asterius gives a long sigh. “It is none of those things. It is that… I have been suspecting that you are not in your right mind. And I cannot not let you do this. I have already taken too many of your affections."

The words stick his throat like an arrow and for a beat Theseus is too struck dumb to reply. What a bold accusation and one he would not endure from any other; there is _nothing_ he does without vigor and passion. Perhaps a hero’s instinct _does_ tremble beyond the realm of sanity in the eyes of a mere man, but out of anyone, Theseus would have thought Asterius would understand. This bond between them has never needed gilded words or explanation. Shameful vulnerability licks across him before he can smother it properly. Asterius has glimpsed him at his worst, seen him fallen in hated defeat, all without judgment — or so Theseus had thought.

“And just what do you imply, Asterius?” He cannot help the bristle in his voice. Insecurity bleeds so quickly to anger, and Theseus sits back away from Asterius’ touch, resolute. “Do you think of me so miserably? I do not desire your companionship for _pity_ , I had only… only thought, what we were…”

Asterius’ head droops against his chest. “Please, do not twist my words,” he replies, not looking at Theseus. “All I meant is that Hades does not favor you. You offended him and escaped Tartarus. He cannot have forgotten.”

Theseus frowns further. Of course, he has said as much himself; therein lies the fate of a true legend, to both please and infuriate the gods. Dionysus, foremost, has little appreciation of him — but for circumstances that were greatly exaggerated! A short-wicked love affair would have been nothing but a lost memory if she had not then drawn the heart of the grape-harvester. Even Poseidon’s favor had been worn after Theseus frightened Hippolytus with a sea-bull borne from his boon, but it was his gift to use! Out of all the gods, Hades really has the least cause to detest him, seeing as how Theseus has devoted himself to his service in the eternal afterlife. And it was not his crime, besides.

“Ahh, but all was forgiven!” he reminds him, wresting his hands free so that he can dramatically throw them in the air again. “That is the way of the gods, Asterius, to be moved to fight at dusk and love again by dawn!”

“My king. Think about this carefully. There would be no more fitting punishment, for you or for me.” Asterius lifts his head so sadly it makes Theseus feel a pang of guilt for wondering if Asterius is still hard during this peculiar conversation. He forces himself not to look as the bull continues, “You meant to steal the bride of Hades. And now you are in paradise, but you debase yourself, for a beast.”

“Debase—?!” Now it truly wounds him, to see Asterius look upon him with soft eyes and think of him so. Theseus’ pride is as stalwart as his spear and normally such an offense would be grounds for a most honorable challenge. But — the minotaur is, as always, far crueler to himself. Theseus’ resolve roars to defend Asterius instead, even if Asterius thinks he does not deserve it. “There is nothing _debasing_ about this desire I wield for you. I took before Lord Hades himself and bid with humble reserve your entrance to Elysium! And should I have been scorned, I would have found my purpose by your side in Erebus.”

“Do you think he did not enjoy your begging?” Asterius responds without hesitation. He has thought over this for a while, Theseus is gathering, hidden deep behind his guilty pleasures of sleeping close and warm together at night. “Elysium was made to be perfection. Without me, you would have peace here.”

And at once, the realization strikes him like the biting cold of Demeter’s scythe. As Theseus looked upon Asterius and worried that he might become like one of his malevolent wives, Asterius was looking back at him, seeing only the plight of his mother. If the minotaur was not so grave, Theseus might have laughed at the irony of it all. Asterius is no true bull and Theseus is no collateral for some divine punishment, but how could the minotaur see desire as anything but? So alone he toiled in despair that Theseus might be, ridiculously, charmed by Hades, surely the least romantic of all the gods. All of that anger and humiliation melts away, replaced by such fondness. Theseus is smiling as he leans back in to catch Asterius’ head in his hands.

“Dearest Asterius,” he says as he strokes the minotaur’s face, though Asterius refuses to meet his eyes. “Did you worry I would beseech Daedalus for a _cow’s suit_?”

The noise Asterius makes is deeply unamused, but Theseus merely laughs.

“You are too noble of heart. Ah, but it is with that tenderness that you have claimed mine.” He runs his fingers through the minotaur’s forelock and all he wants to do is fall into him, to cover him in loving kisses so Asterius might understand his worth. He continues, more soberly, “If my devotion to you is but a godly trick, then it began when I first looked upon you. I swear to you Asterius, Elysium alone is not my peace.”

That is enough to draw the minotaur’s eyes back to him, questioning. “What do you mean?”

“Oh my friend, as true the stars of the heroes, I have never been apart from you since the moment we met! I had wondered why the Fates would bring together our two proud strengths only to sunder them… but I see, now.” His smile becomes more distant. Asterius had followed him in life like a shadow and an empty space; Phaedra had humored his questions, but likely never understood why he spoke of the minotaur as an old friend. “It was so that I might find you again in death. Reborn from our former conflict, together!”

Asterius’ nostrils flare. He is thinking, Theseus can tell, and he finds the king’s gaze to search for any lie within his eyes. Finally he reaches out and rests his hand upon Theseus’ shoulder, and at once Theseus is indomitable again, with Asterius at his side.

“I have felt what you feel,” Asterius says, slowly. “If it is true, that it is not the Underworld’s deceit.”

Theseus’ patience has snapped. The sky is falling all around him and stars are raining from the heavens, but he would have thrown it all aside even earlier if he’d known exactly what stayed Asterius’ hands. He lived much of his life within those twisting walls, set within them by the ones who could not love him, and Theseus will never relent in shattering the prison that haunts Asterius. His fingers cup around the minotaur’s jaw and with renewed boldness he leans in to press a chaste kiss to the crest of Asterius’ snout. With his eyes closed, he can hear Asterius sigh, so full of contentment, of acceptance. The noise sounds like home.

“Then I have not mistaken you,” he murmurs as he pulls away.

“No. You have not.”

Theseus licks his lips and drags his tongue over his lower lip far too slowly to not be deliberate. He cannot help himself; his hands find Asterius’ chest again, running circles against his bare skin. “Have you dreamt of me, as well?” Zagreus doesn’t deserve the sole honor.

Asterius’ breath pitches and it takes him a moment to respond. “I have… thought of you, yes.”

 _That_ spikes heat right up Theseus’ body. He moves to straddle Asterius’ lap, eyes devilish and dancing. There is no resistance now; on the contrary, his beloved bull appears so shy. “Thought of me how, dear Asterius? Do I come to your mind during your nights of solus pleasure, as though it were my hand touching you instead of yours?”

Asterius snorts, but he’s flustered, head ducked. “King.”

“Ha- _ha_! _”_ Theseus does not stifle his grin of victory, his giddiness to hear Asterius not deny any of it. “My words must ring true, my coquettish companion! I have never seen your handsome face so flushed!”

Despite the fact Asterius has fur covering any flush to his face, the statement does obviously hit its mark. His hands have fallen to grip the curve of Theseus’ hips; Theseus is positively drunk on it, feeling Asterius hold him with a possessiveness the bull has never let himself have. Asterius’ hot breath brushes against his neck as he leans into him, now suddenly fervent to have Theseus close. “I have thought of you beneath me. How loud you would be,” he rumbles in Theseus’ ear, and Theseus positively preens; he is indeed loud, Asterius knows him so well. “I would satisfy you. I would give you everything.”

So long of imagining Asterius whispering heady words to him cannot compare to the reality. Theseus exhales, shakily, those images of Asterius atop him suddenly so consuming. “ _Ha_ , and I would take it all of you!” he croons back; it is as though he’s spent his lifetime preparing for it, wondering how it would be to feel Asterius’ pulse inside of him. And it is sweet, to know that Asterius has never touched anyone else and now aches for only him. Theseus cannot say the same, but he is so certain those previous tastes were just to show him he’d never be satisfied by anyone else. His hands fall to Asterius’ thighs and squeeze with the same thirst with which Asterius holds him; his fingers rub circles against Asterius’ taut skin, causing the minotaur’s legs to quiver beneath him. “You have my offer,” Theseus husks as his fingers inch further up Asterius’ thigh. “Or I could beg you of it, on my knees as I was before Lord Hades, offering my soul to once again be with yours.”

“You do not need to beg. Not ever, not with me.” Asterius cups Theseus’ cheek and gods, he speaks with such affection that Theseus can’t even think of correcting him – that he would, in fact, like to beg. “But if… you would like.”

“Oh, _Asterius_ , you do not know how long I would have liked,” Theseus gasps, and he does not wait for another word before he’s shifting himself backwards and spreading Asterius’ legs.

In response, Asterius releases his hips. He then parts his legs hesitantly, and starts to lift up his tunic and lappets. “Do they mind… in the gardens?”

Theseus clicks his tongue. In all honesty he does not know if _they_ mind; _they_ possibly meaning the other warriors of Elysium, or the exalted somewhere beyond the walls, or even the Lord of the Underworld himself. Far more important than that is that he does not care. Asterius has spoken about nothing but Theseus’ pleasure, and Theseus would gladly face sniffling Patroclus’ judgment if it meant giving the bull the ecstasy he deserves. Zagreus himself could not spoil this moment. In fact — it’s a bit troubling that the thought of that daemon coming across him with Asterius’ length down his throat makes Theseus’ cock stir. An issue for another time.

“Who would dare proclaim that the arena Champions are not entitled to all Elysium’s pleasures?” he scoffs. Not wanting to make a discussion of it when finally, _finally_ , he is so close to feeling Asterius’ weight upon his tongue, Theseus also moves to lift the cloth between Asterius’ legs. He’s seen him before, first entirely naked when he came across him in the labyrinth, starved and blind with rage but still built like an image of the gods. In Elysium, his ethereal skin now positively glows, and on more than one occasion has Theseus offered to wash Asterius while he bathes himself. The minotaur never accepted, though it aroused him enough to witness Asterius rinse his bare body, picturing instead the droplets of Okeanos clinging to his fur as he jerks himself off into the water.

(Theseus has always liked long baths, though he stays beneath the water’s surface even longer when Asterius is around.)

None of that can compare to now: Asterius’ cock is already stirring, pressing against his muscular thigh. Theseus bites back a whine. It’s massive, as thick as his forearm and all of it for him. All of it _wanting_ him. There’s not a thought in his head as he reaches out to curl his fingers around its base. The noise Asterius makes is startled and heavy, but not unwanted, and Theseus dips his spine deep as he looks up to the minotaur’s face. Asterius’ expression is no longer shy: the depths of his eyes are rapt and intense, his hands flexing in the grass beside him like he doesn’t know quite where to put them. Theseus breathes across the head, hot and slow, and Asterius’ length twitches in his grasp. So wanton and dreamy, Theseus looks up to him through his lashes. “Speak my name, Asterius.”

It seems to catch in Asterius’ throat at first, but when he says it finally, it’s like a prayer. “Theseus,” Asterius murmurs, reverent as though he was the one on his knees. Theseus is not anticipating the way those three familiar syllables in Asterius’ husky voice sends a shiver up his spine. Even rarely in privacy does Asterius call him by name. Sometimes he will say it in sudden intimacy, other times in severity, and more than once has Theseus thought he did hear Asterius cry out for him after Zagreus sent his soul to dust — but there is no mistaking how it sounds right now.

The lust must have shown on his face. Asterius moans deep and his legs part wider, all shame gone. Theseus feels it burn within himself as well; the grove is nothing but the pair of them, finally tasting the most delicious fruits Elysium has ever shed.

Theseus spits in his free hand and then wraps it about Asterius’ cock. He’s hot and throbbing against his touch, and the king squeezes as he works his palm up its length. Asterius shakes like the world has shattered around him and he groans again, so deliciously that Theseus cannot help a muffled noise in response. In surely Fated irony, he might have slew Asterius, but the minotaur has always been his undoing. He’d worn Asterius’ moniker against his breast throughout his reign because that was where it _belonged_ , but he had always known that the minotaur was elsewhere in Hades, likely cursing the hero who killed him. Though now they bear the symbol of Hades on their belts, all Theseus can see is the twisted bident prongs that bind them together. Inevitably and eternally, whatever Asterius wears will be carved into his own soul as well.

He’s found a rhythm, stroking the minotaur slowly and deliberately as Asterius hardens completely in his hand. Asterius is so _sensitive_ , and it strings Theseus somewhere between love and lust, listening to his chorus of pants and gentle snorts. Theseus is teasing himself more than Asterius; for as large as Asterius was before, his member is now engorged and weeping beads of precum from its tip. It does not shame him to admit he’s _salivating_ for it, and the way this is going, Asterius is going to finish before he’s even begun.

Theseus licks his lips and then parts them over Asterius’ cockhead. “Oh, how cruelly I have been taunted with visions of this! And still, not even the Oneiroi rival its veracity,” he husks, and his tongue flicks out across it. That earns a sharp gasp from Asterius and his hand comes to clutch the back of Theseus’ skull. His palm is so massive that it fits perfectly, his fingers twisting in the king’s short hair. Pitiful Tantalus could never quench his desire, but Theseus has committed no such crime. Triumphant, he tells Asterius as much, “If the gods did desire to punish me, would I be permitted _this_?” And he punctuates the cocky remark by immediately swallowing Asterius whole, jaw stretched as the minotaur’s throbbing girth fills his mouth.

On many occasions has Theseus’ bravado gotten the best of him, and this may be another of them, but he doesn’t regret it in the slightest. The way Asterius moans as he sinks further down Theseus’ throat is like a battle cry the king has been longing to hear. Not even the way his eyes have begun to water with exertion slows him; when Asterius’ cock is nudging against the back of his throat and Theseus is resisting the urge to gag on it does he pause, appreciating how the minotaur has speared him completely. He’s only managed to take half of it, which bothers his competitive spirit, but he’s panting through his nose and drooling shamelessly. His lips are clasped tight around it and he sucks it shallowly; he _knows_ how he looks, lashes wet and thighs shaking as he sucks at Asterius’ dick like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. When he glances up to the bull, his companion is staring right down at him with glassy eyes, jaw slack and breathing heavy. He readjusts his grip in Theseus’ hair and rubs circles right where his head meets his neck, both soothing and wanting.

Theseus decides that this is another expression of Asterius’ that is positively beautiful, and made even more sweet knowing no other has ever seen it.

Not breaking eye contact, he begins to bob his head along Asterius’ length, stroking what he cannot reach. His tongue teases a thick vein as he drags the skin up and down; it takes surprising concentration to not let his eyes flutter shut, but Asterius has him on a hook, and without even trying. Every grunt from the bull makes his balls feel tight and his own cock stiff against his tunic. Asterius has always been oblivious to his own handsomeness, and the stares he garners not only from Elysium’s residents but that foul vagrant Zagreus as well.

Though none of them know the way Asterius feels against his tongue and it gets him so, so hard. He pulls back and lets Asterius’ member slide from his wet, lewd pop, only to lean in and lavish it against his cheek. Gods, he wants him everywhere: he wants to taste him, feel Asterius within him, be marked so thoroughly that neither judgment nor lord of the Underworld can separate them again. Theseus pants, his voice fervent, “Asterius, describe to me those most voracious thoughts of yours. When did you first desire it?”

Asterius’ snort cuts into an open-mouthed groan as Theseus swallows him, dark and glistening, again. For a moment the minotaur seems to struggle for words, Theseus’ anticipation hanging thick in the air until he finally does speak.

“You are beautiful when you sleep,” he says, and even with Asterius’ cock stretching his lips, Theseus manages to furrow his brown into a deep frown. This was not what he was expecting. It absolutely does not stir the ache between his legs, but with his mouth full he can do nothing but let Asterius continue. “I have wanted to give you that peace. To be worthy of your trust and affection, as I could not while we lived.”

Theseus moans around his dick, a _you are_ and _go on_ combined into one.

“I have wanted — _hah_ — to touch you. When you are wet in the river… I have imagined how your fingers would feel, to guide me inside of you. You have reminded me I have a name, and I would hear you say nothing but it, with your arms around me. The color of your eyes, so bright… _hah_ , king—… Theseus—,” Asterius forces out, and by the way his hips have begun to rock against Theseus’ lips, it is clear he is close. His fantasy is so tender and sweet, especially when compared Theseus’ dreams of Asterius choking him on his cock, that all Theseus desires now is to give him everything. Asterius’ words have dissolved into throaty gasps; Theseus reaches to fondle his balls, swiping his tongue a final time against the ridge of his length.

“Come, Asterius, finish yourself on me,” he commands. His throat is rough and it’s practically a growl, and he’s begun to touch Asterius in rough, ragged strokes, in time with how the minotaur twists beneath him. “My fingers, my mouth, my eyes — take what you wish, my friend, for they are all for you.”

Asterius’ gaze is unfocused, staring down at Theseus as heat visibly builds in him. His grip on Theseus’ hair has become rough but Theseus refuses to be budged, hanging his tongue out over his lower lip for Asterius to coat. When the minotaur finally comes it’s with a shout of _Theseus!_ torn beautifully from his chest, balls gone tight as Theseus pumps his shaft, that first spurt splashing across the king’s parted, waiting lips. Hot ropes of cum splatter his cheekbones, his brows, dripping down his jawline and Theseus is casually amazed by how much Asterius has to give. He licks what he can reach and relishes the taste that is purely Asterius.

By the time the minotaur’s breathing has slowed and his cock is going flaccid in Theseus’ hand, Theseus has reached between his legs to stroke himself furiously now, pitiful noises chanted in a litany from his tongue as he chases his release. It comes so quickly, on the heels of Asterius’ slack-jawed orgasm and the warmth of his cum upon Theseus’ face. The world seems the go white around him as the heat tightens then pitches, his seed spilling over his fingers as he doubles forward against Asterius’ torso. As he milks himself through his orgasm, he’s dimly aware of the minotaur petting his hair and murmuring his name. It settles a satisfying warmth in his chest. The gardens around them reorient as his climax subsides, and he presses his forehead against Asterius’ sweat-stained breast, slumping against him.

“What a mess you’ve made of me!” he laughs, but of course he asked for it, and wiping the drying cum from his face is a labor of love.

Poor Asterius merely snorts, seemingly quite embarrassed of it all as he tilts Theseus’ head back. “I will make it up to you, king,” he murmurs. His thumbs help to clean Theseus’ ruddy cheeks, and he rubs his fingers in the grasses around them.

“And you shall!” Theseus’ grin is knowing, his eyebrows lifting with clear suggestion. “For I think we are long due to bathe, after our rest.”

Asterius’ head ducks, but he’s gathering Theseus’ tired body into his arms, pressing his snout to the side of the king’s face as soon as he’s settled. “Wherever you go, I will follow.”

It is words he has said before, and it is just in this moment that Theseus realizes the love behind them. While Asterius lived his life dictated by others, he has chosen Theseus as the place to put his heart, to never feel caged despite how Theseus bid him to both Elysium and the arena. The king’s expression softens, and he strokes the minotaur’s jaw and then up to his ears, just how he likes. “Together, my dear Asterius,” he whispers above Asterius’ contented rumble, and finally does he find the will to close his eyes.

He can now sleep, knowing Asterius’ arms would still be around him when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> so sorry for the extended silence!! i'm back for #hadesbingo, a nanowrimo/november writing event me and some friends are doing! if you're looking for a fun set of prompts without the pressure of writing 50k in a month, check out our hashtag on twitter or my handle @first_ginger!
> 
> inspired by @lunaroutlaw's gorgeous art of asterius' overthinking and theseus' oral fixation (https://twitter.com/lunaroutlaw/status/1320580686923722752)! these two make me so soft, i can't even write theseus being slutty without going into how much he loves asterius.
> 
> thank you so much for reading! :)


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